


Sweet John

by brandend



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Casual Racism, Crack, Crack Relationships, Disturbing Choices in Lovers, Disturbing choices in knickers, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Other, Sherlock fucks a toilet, Sorry Not Sorry, Toilet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandend/pseuds/brandend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock spends a special night with his John...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet John

Sherlock was bored. He was lying in bed at his home in 221B, savouring the pressure of his four-centimetre skin flute against the stretchiness of his Elsa knickers, but otherwise he was so massively bored and unhorny.

 

Until he remembered. John. John. His John.

 

He could spy it from the bed, gleaming out at him with its spectacular whiteness—his toilet. His love. His one and only. Panting with the beginnings of mad lust, Sherlock leapt up and ran to it faster than a Jew whose 2p coin was rolling away, and his breath came in fierce and lustful pants as he beheld it, as all the stress of doing whatever he did to solve crimes or something nigh on melted straight away in the presence of his John, his sweet John…

 

Breathing now like an alpaca in heat, Sherlock yanked off the Elsa knickers he’d bought in the sale at Primark and stared hard and hot at John. John was full of pink-chunked green diarrhoea Sherlock had not flushed because he was a nasty fuck, but otherwise John was pure, John was shining, John was love. And Sherlock needed to be one with him. He could be, now that his turgid cream-spritzing flesh banana was hard and hot and ready for John.

 

“God, you’re so fine, so fine porcelain,” Sherlock groaned as he positioned himself above John, his tallywhacker in one hand and the other supporting his weight against the seat. Sherlock thrust down on John hard and fast, snapping his hips and thrusting his engorged meat snake into the depths of the poopy bowl, angling as best he could for its gaping exit. Before he could achieve the sweet, sweet pleasure of pounding the entrance to John’s pipes, Sherlock’s hips gave one last enormous thrust as the force of the motion sent his head crashing into John’s whatever the back portion of toilets are called, knocking him unconscious.

 

Sadly for Sherlock and sadlier for John Watson, who had the misfortune of discovering the mess the following morning, Sherlock died of blunt force trauma. The end.


End file.
